I’m not alone in fearing and loathing artist’s statements. I’ve written my share of la-dee-da and contrarian and tortured artiste and obtuse versions — usually at the behest of whatever exhibition or call for entry had requested or required one. I have come to realize, however, that they can and do serve a good purpose when written with the proper intent. They can be a way for others to understand, with limits, what a photographer is about, who he or she is.

My new approach to artist’s statements is to follow the guidance I received from a history professor at university. He was providing the standard by which he would be grading our term papers. “What do you mean,” he said. “And how do you know.”

I’m not going to present an artist’s statement here. I am, however, gong to say a quick something about this photo — why I like it and why I hope you appreciate it, too. I believe what “makes” this rather ubiquitous bench scene is, of course, the vines and other vegetation growing through it. For me, though, it’s the plucky branch extending from the left, like a feather boa (to this associative mind, anyway), that sets this apart from others like it. I also like the contrasting horizontal lines and patterns, and that sliver of the basement window.

OK. We know that there's a term called “chimping” that describes the habit of taking a picture and then immediately going, “Oh, oh, oh,” like a chimp, while reviewing it on the camera’s LCD screen. I shoot some digital myself, but I don't ooo or ahhh, but I do get that kind of chimp face when reviewing a shot I just took. Can't seem to stop that habit.

On the other hand, there's no opportunity to chimp with a film camera. That's one of the aspects I love about shooting film. Delayed gratification -- that's good for most things except sex. Anyway, I knew this shot would be a keeper as I took it. Call it intuition. Call it 40+ years of experience. Call it luck or karma. But it felt good and right and exciting.

First, it's a photograph of a sign (too easy, I know) that actually says retro, albeit behind that big arrow. Second, it was taken with a retro camera, an original Diana camera. And as an added treat, (sprinkles on top, if you will) I used real film -- Portra 800 (part of my ongoing experiment using really good film in really crappy cameras).

The Urban Dictionary defines retro as, "A contemporary object or style containing elements of, but not replicating, an object or style from a previous era." By this definition, my image is not truly retro at all. The camera is not contemporary. The photo does not really contain elements "of" anything; it's the real deal. At best, it is retro from the perspective of using a camera and image capturing process from a previous era -- except that film and analog cameras are still here. I will not concede that that image-makers have been overcome or overrun by their digital cousins.

Maybe I should be content with defining this image for what it is not. It is not a new image in an old style. It is not an old image in a new style. It is not...hmmm.

My head hurts. Must be this pork pie hat...

P.S. I own several Diana cameras. I name them because it is easier to keep track of the quirks of each one. This is my latest addition, called Dad. That's because my Dad found it at an estate sale. I think Dad takes pretty pictures.

P.P.S. After I posted this blog, something else occurred to me: By the act of taking a photograph, I am capturing a moment just as it passes into the past. So waiting to develop the film, I am looking forward to looking back. I am not a retro photographer. Rather, I am a retrograde photographer.